


witching hour

by princegrantaire



Category: The Libertines
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Early Days, M/M, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princegrantaire/pseuds/princegrantaire
Summary: There's definitely something strange about Peter, it's just that Carl can't quite figure out what.





	

Caught between night and the first hints of an unforgivably bright morning, Carl wonders what woke him up as he looks, squints really, around the room. Nothing stands out at first glance, no ticking of a tell-tale heart or too dark figure not quite blending in with the darkness. The door is open though and Carl, sober and sufficiently alert for once, knows that he didn’t leave it like that.

It’s then he hears it, a quiet chanting coming from somewhere in the flat. Carl immediately assumes someone must have broken in; it’s a small place, barely furnished and it’s certainly seen better days but he doesn’t exactly trust the sort of people who live around here.

His mind soon catches up to his senses and as he pats the spot next to him, he realizes Peter is missing from the little mattress they share most nights.

He instantly calms down. Peter isn’t what anyone would call a considerate room-mate or even a good friend and his wide range of eccentricities have proven that again and again but at the very least it’s not someone breaking in and Carl can go back to sleep without fearing for his life. Despite that, the chanting grows louder and Carl sighs, Peter’s natural curiosity seems to be rubbing off on him. He sits up and wraps their one blanket around himself.

Carl paces the room once or twice, just to make sure Peter really isn’t around, then walks to the bathroom across the hall. The chanting seems to have stopped entirely now but somehow the silence is more unnerving, during the day Peter is never quiet, always babbling away about pigeons and poetry and clouds he’s fallen in love with.

He manages to stumble into the kitchen without turning on any of the lights and finds Peter sitting on the floor, six candles forming a circle around him. There’s something written on the floor in what he suspects is red chalk and he sighs again, rubbing his eyes. It’s too early to deal with any of this, he doesn’t even have the energy to act surprised. Though, in hindsight, it occurs to him this is really a bit much even for the likes of Peter.

“Couldn’t you do this tomorrow?” Carl asks, yawning. He tugs the blanket tighter around himself and considers forgetting about Peter and going back to bed. That’s just what he does when he realizes Peter seems to have fallen asleep right there on the floor and the chances of him answering Carl grow smaller by the minute.

-

The next morning Carl sleeps in, blissfully unaware of the fact that he’s missing work for what’s most likely the fourth time that week. He eventually wakes up in the afternoon, disoriented, nothing but hazy memories of unknown words behind his eyes.

Peter is, surprisingly, nowhere to be found. He tends to sleep till noon much more often than Carl, possibly as a direct result of leaving any and all responsibilities to Carl, so it’s rare to find him absent. The drawing on the kitchen floor is gone too and Carl is really quite willing to start passing everything off as some kind of hallucination, god knows he’s seen worse, until he notices what are clearly bloody footprints leading to the window. No red chalk to be blamed here.

Carl squeals and immediately rushes to the open window, not quite sure what to expect as he looks down. Thankfully he finds himself looking at nothing more than a rather busy street, though he’s quite sure he spots a familiar hat somewhere in the crowd. Peter must have gone out to the shop, as ridiculous as the notion seems to Carl it does look like the only explanation.

Not quite content or particularly sure that Peter _isn’t_ part of some cult, Carl rushes to work. He promises himself to ask about the footprints as soon as he gets a hold of his increasingly aggravating friend.

-

In the evening Carl returns without a job but with a bottle of gin, bought with the last of his money, and a familiar desire to disappear completely. He’s planning on sharing the bottle with Peter though, doesn’t want to repeat what happened last time he got drunk alone, but Peter is still nowhere to be found and Carl, in the few minutes it takes him to open the bottle and take a swig, grows quite concerned. It’s unlike Peter to disappear for an entire day. He must be hiding something, Carl realizes.

It should have been obvious, it probably _was_ obvious considering all the strange things that have been happening lately but the thought hadn’t really occurred to Carl till now and besides his earlier theory about a cult, nothing else seems to really jump out at him. The footprints in the kitchen are gone now too, which at least indicates that Peter must have made a reappearance at some point. He decides to go through Peter’s things, as that seems to be the only logical course of action at this point.

Peter’s things include several journals, hats and three identical framed pictures of cats. The latter two are significantly easier to go through than the journals, which seem to be written in some sort of code or a language Carl can’t quite immediately recognize. Finally near the end of the third journal, he encounters something written in English, although that doesn’t make it any less baffling. It seems to be some sort of recipe, though Carl can’t quite tell what it’s for and isn’t sure he wants to know after taking a long look at the ingredients.

Altogether Peter’s things don’t paint an entirely clear picture and Carl makes sure to ignore the sneaking suspicion that Peter is a witch, which would be just plain ridiculous, not to mention _impossible_.

-

That night, when Carl feels an exceedingly cold body crawl into bed next to him, he merely smiles and huddles closer without giving it much thought. It’s then that he feels something hit the back of his head and he nearly has a heart attack, after which he sighs and turns to face Peter.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” he says and is surprised to hear that he doesn’t sound nearly as tired as he feels. Maybe he’s been waiting for this opportunity for far too long. Peter seems to be wearing a witch hat to bed. Carl wonders when this became his life.

“Yeah…yeah…I just thought you’d never catch on.”

Truth be told Carl’s not sure he _has_ actually caught on but he knows enough to realize it’s something that needs to be talked about sooner or later, especially if Peter keeps waking him up in the middle of the night. He sits up and gently takes Peter’s witch hat off, ruffling his hair in passing and lying down again. He can’t see well enough in the dim light but he’s almost sure Peter is smiling.

“Well…I’m a witch,” Peter finally says and for once in his life he sounds a bit nervous.

It almost doesn’t sound _that_ impossible when it’s coming from Peter, it’s just another one of those Peter things, no worse than the “I found a kitten, please, Biggles, can we keep it?” from two months ago or that time Peter spilled tea all over Carl’s one good shirt. He just nods in response and hopes Peter understands everything that goes unsaid. He’s almost asleep when he remembers something he needs to tell Peter.

“I got fired today.”

Peter hums sleepily and murmurs something that quickly turns into an outraged “ _WHAT?_ ” when Carl’s words actually dawn on him. Apparently _this_ is significantly more shocking than Peter being a witch. Carl mumbles something about double standards and is ready to make what’s hopefully a final attempt to go to sleep when Peter leans forward and kisses him gently. It’s just a peck really but it feels like it’s been a long time coming. They smile at each other.

“Wait, was that blood in the kitchen this morning?” Carl asks after a moment of blissful silence. Peter seems to be resolutely asleep. 


End file.
